


Draw Me Like One Of Your French Girls

by anemic_cinema



Category: Insidious (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, bad pop culture references, life drawing as flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1550654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemic_cinema/pseuds/anemic_cinema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker agrees to let Specs draw him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw Me Like One Of Your French Girls

“C'mon Specs, draw me like one of your French girls.” 

Specs glared over his sketchpad at the man reclining on the sofa. While it was nice of Tucker to have agreed to pose for him so he could get some figure drawing practice, it wasn't so nice that he was cracking wise and generally being a pain in the ass.

“I swear to God.” Specs adjusted his glasses, which had slid down his narrow nose. “You can't talk while you're posing.”

“Why the hell not?” Tucker was laying on his side on the sofa, striking a pose similar to the one Rose had struck for Jack in the movie “Titanic.” Specs had requested that he just act natural. Natural for Tucker meant being an asshole.

“Because I said so, and because you're being obnoxious. Now can you pose like a normal human being please?” Specs sighed and tapped his charcoal stick against the piece of paper on his pad. “Just lay down like you're watching TV or something.” 

“Fine. Sure you don't want me to take my clothes off?” Tucker smirked at the other man's frustrated and scandalized expression. He settled in on his side, face turned towards the blank TV. 

“Just don't move and shut up.” Specs muttered at his eyes darted from the man back to his paper, his hand moving in quick, self-assured strokes.

“That's some way to talk to someone who's helping you out.” Tucker shot back, but quieted down when Specs gave him a look that spoke of coming into the bearded man's room at night with a knife to stab the hell out of him. He settled in, occasionally looking over at his friend. Specs got so intense when he drew. His eyes moved fast, as his his hand, and when he got really into it, he'd stick his tongue out a little at the side of his mouth before drawing his bottom lip in between his teeth to chew on it. 

Tucker gave him a hard time for his doodling, even though Elise had told him multiple times that it was a critical part of their investigations. Why bother with drawings when cameras captured plenty? Though the bearded man had to admit, Specs's hand could capture things his equipment couldn't. Not that Tucker would ever tell him that. He'd rather have to deal with a whole host of wacko spirits than give him an inch. 

“Alright I'm done for now. Thanks Tucker.” Specs was about to close his drawing pad with a grin when Tucker spoke up.

“Hold on, I wanna see it.” 

“It's not totally done yet. You can see it when its done.” Specs hugged the pad to his chest, making it clear that the other man could see it when he pried it out of his cold, dead hands.

“Whatever man, I got work to do.” Tucker got up and casually walked to his room. He figured that as soon as Specs left that damn sketchpad unattended, he could take a look.

**

Except that Specs was smarter than to leave his things unattended or in places where Tucker could see them and be nosy. Days went past, and the bearded man's casual interest was stoked into something fanatical because of Specs's refusal to show him. What Tucker wouldn't admit to himself was that he loved Specs's drawings. They were freaking cool, and they made dealing with bizarro shit tolerable, because seeing them made it seem like they were maybe doing something worthwhile. Like they had a purpose, and that there were results you could see from their work. 

Tucker was about to cave and beg his friend for a peek at the drawing, when Specs came into his room with it. He tossed it unceremoniously on the other man's bed. 

“Here ya go. I even sprayed it down with fixing spray so it wouldn't smudge.” 

Tucker got up from his work desk and casually picked it up. It was good. Damn good in fact. Specs had really captured something. He saw himself lying on the couch, scumbly strokes of charcoal implying shadows, the light picked out with erasers. It was amazing how much it looked like himself. It was like something out of an art gallery.

“Just so you know, this is counting as your birthday present.” Specs said. 

Tucker tried to hide his pleasure with the drawing. “My birthday isn't even close.” 

“Well, it's a very early present.” The other man cleared his throat. “So...”

“So what?” Tucker looked up at him. His brow was furrowed.

“Do you like it, or...?” Specs motioned his hands in circles, trying to draw out a response with both his works and a visual aid. 

“Yeah, it's pretty good.” Tucker let the words slip out before he could stop himself. He should have made a pithy remark, or picked out some flaw in the drawing. Anything but give Specs a compliment. 

“Really? I think it turned out pretty good myself. I mean, I had a good model, so it's only natural that it turned out good.” Just like Tucker, Specs kicked himself for letting that compliment slip out. 

Tucker grinned. “Good model huh?”

“I mean, you were ok. You can sit still, that's all.” 

“Suuure.” Tucker carefully placed the drawing on a shelf. “You know, if you play your cards right, I might even be willing to pose for you in the nude one day.”

“I hope it never comes to that.” Specs rolled his eyes. “Enjoy the drawing.”

“Whatever.” Tucker sat back down to working on his gadgets. As Specs was leaving the room, he had to say one last thing:

“Thanks for the present.” 

Specs paused in the doorway. “No problem.” 

Tucker didn't see it, but he had the widest grin on his face. 

**

“Do you mind sitting with your shirt off?” Specs tried not to sound nervous about the request. It wasn't like he had an ulterior motive or anything. He needed to have some practice drawing people without the hinderance of clothes. 

“I knew you'd ask me to do some perverted shit sooner than later.” Despite saying that, Tucker perched himself on the kitchen stool and pulled off his t-shirt without any hesitation. 

“How the hell is drawing you with just your stupid shirt off perverted? You're the perverted one for saying that.”

“There you go, turning the subject around to mask your twisted fantasizes.” Tucker inhaled, puffed out his chest, and flexed his arms.

Specs looked at him with the utmost discouragement at his goofball antics.“Unless you can hold that pose for at least twenty minutes, I wouldn't do that.” 

Tucker exhaled, and let his arms drop down to rest on his legs.

“Perfect, don't move!” Specs stared at Tucker as his hand moved. The bearded man could swear that he wasn't looking down at the paper as much as he had the last time. Or maybe he just felt his gaze more sans shirt. 

“How long is this gonna be?”

“Not too long. I'm just trying to get a couple of quick sketches done.” Specs got up, shifted his chair so that he was facing Tucker's side instead of facing him front on. The fact that the bearded man couldn't see him, and couldn't turn his head to look him in the eye was not a comfortable feeling. It gave him the same creepy-crawly sensation that he got when he was in the same room as some entity or spirit. Granted, he knew for a fact that Specs wouldn't jump out and scare him, but it wasn't a dynamic that he liked. He heard the chair legs scrape against the linoleum, and Specs sat down behind him. He considered making a joke about Specs liking to do it from the back, but had a feeling that saying that would come off wrong.

“Almost done. You're doing great.” Another compliment. Tucker figured at this rate they'd be practically married by the end of the year. 

“And done.” He heard Specs get up, and then clap him on the back of his shoulder. 

“Here, check 'em out.” He handed the seated man the sketchpad, and Tucker flipped through the pages. The sketches were rough, but they captured his him-ness. Or something.

“These really look like me.” 

“That's kinda the point.” Specs had a small laugh at Tucker's naïve-sounding statement. The bearded man was about to tell him something snotty in return when he realized that Specs's hand was still on his shoulder. And it wasn't leaving. And he liked it being there. 

Two thoughts came to Tucker's mind.

'Oh shit, I think Specs is gay for me.'

Followed by:

'Oh shit, I think I'm gay for Specs.'

By the time his brain sorted out the logic being attracted to a dude for the first time since he was in high school, Specs had realized that his hand was lingering on the naked shoulder of his partner in paranormal investigation-slash-roommate-slash verbal sparring partner, he was about ready to toss himself out the window.

“Sorry.”

“What?” He looked up at him and down at the hand that the other man had just removed from his shoulder. “Oh, don't worry.” Tucker reached down to grab his shirt, knocking the sketchpad off of his lap. A small scrap of sketch paper flew out from the pages at it landed with a dull, wood-pulp thump. Tucker reached down to pick it up, and reached for the scrap of paper.

“Don't!” Specs squeaked out, grabbing at the sketchpad.

Tucker looked at the paper and started laughing. On it, in a cartoony-style, Specs had drawn him in the exact pose from the scene in “Titanic” where Rose poses naked for Jack. The other man had been kind enough to draw a black censor box over his junk, and a speech bubble hung above the figure.

“Draw me like one of your French girls.”

Tucker could not stop laughing. When he turned to Specs, he had to force himself to shut up. The other man looked humiliated. 

“Dude, this is great. You should put it on the internet or something, it's fucking hilarious.”

Specs winced. “I'm sorry, you just put the idea in my mind, and it doesn't mean anything I just thought it would be funny.”

“It is. It's great.”

“So you're not pissed I drew you like that?”

“No man, not at all. You should do a whole series of them, I mean, look at me.” Tucker gestured to his body. “I'm a regular Adonis, it's no wonder you were inspired.”

Specs gave him one of his patented “you're a regular moron” looks, but he wasn't acting embarrassed anymore. He took his sketchpad back.

“If you like it so much, go ahead and keep it. It was starting to creep me out anyway.”

“You're the one who drew it.” Tucker grinned. At this rate he was going to end up with a fine collection of works by Specs. Next time though, he was definitely going to have to pose nude, and give Specs an eyeful. He'd drawn that stupid censor box too small, and Tucker was going to have to correct that. There was no way he was going to let the other man think he wasn't hung like a horse. It was a point of pride after all.


End file.
